


Chroma

by rosekings



Series: New Spring [2]
Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: M/M, spring of '85
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-03
Updated: 2019-02-03
Packaged: 2019-10-21 18:57:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17648123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosekings/pseuds/rosekings
Summary: Steve tosses his sunglasses onto the dash and beams at him. “What’s up, Byers? Get your eight hours?”Jonathan sits back with a sigh, rubbing sleep out of his eyes. “What the hell are you doing in my car?”





	Chroma

Seeing Steve Harrington is not on Jonathan’s agenda today. In fact, it isn’t anywhere remotely _near_ his agenda until his older-than-Rome, _sorry_ excuse for a car stubbornly refuses to start in the school parking lot. He’s the last one there, having lingered to develop some photos he took the afternoon before. Two-thirds of them came out slightly blurry thanks to the minor tremble in his hands, but he’s not surprised. He doesn’t know if he even has the capacity to _be_ surprised anymore.

A glance at the dash tells him all he needs to know. He slumps back into his seat with a heavy sigh, the fabric creaking under his weight as he presses his palms against his eyes. _I filled up the tank two days ago. Just two days. Didn’t I?_ His hands drop to his lap. Out in the lot, a plastic sack blows across the concrete like tumbleweed, drifting and flying and finally getting snagged in the bushes. _Didn’t I?_

All his receipts are kept in the glove compartment, but he can’t find the courage to lean over and see if there’s a recent one from the gas station in there. He doesn’t really want to know the answer.

He shakes his head. He’s _fine._ He’s just not getting enough sleep because he’s cramming for finals, so things slip sometimes. It isn’t a big deal; this stuff happens to everyone. _Tell that to the shaking,_ his brain snaps back to his half-assed self-reassurances. He glances at his hands, resting on the wheel. They’re _not_ shaking. They’re just…

Whatever. He’s got bigger things to worry about than himself right now; namely, gas. He has to get home so he can shower, do some homework, get to his shift later. He mulls it over, watching the orange tree-shaped car freshener swing from the mirror. He could walk. There’s a spare gas can in the trunk, and the station isn’t far. On a day like this, with spring blooming in its full chromatic glory all across town, it would probably be a peaceful bit of solitude.

_Or…_ he drums his fingers on the wheel, considering. For once, there’s no imminent obligations he’s got to deal with. His mom has her car and Will already rode home from school with Dustin so nobody is expecting him, and he doesn’t work until tonight. He could get some sleep right now, take a quicker shower than usual, get to work on time, and do the homework later.

His eyelids are already drooping now that he’s entertaining the idea. _It’s a great idea,_ he thinks lazily.

His exhaustion doesn’t need to be told twice. He rolls down the windows and adjusts to a more comfortable position in his seat, letting his eyes drift shut. With the gentle spring breeze floating through the car and across his face, carrying the smell of a new season, he falls asleep in no time.

 

It doesn’t feel like long before he’s startled awake by the loud slam of a door. He glances around, surprised mostly just because he wasn’t expecting it. He doesn’t sleep deep enough to be disoriented upon waking.

There’s someone in his passenger seat, someone who evidently just arrived going by the sound of the door. But…it can’t be. _Really?_ Jonathan squints at the person next to him. Messy hair that was definitely worked at, familiar sunglasses from the expensive store in the mall, that shit-eating grin that flip-flops his stomach even now.

Steve tosses his sunglasses onto the dash and beams at him. “What’s up, Byers? Get your eight hours?”

Jonathan sits back with a sigh, rubbing sleep out of his eyes. “What the hell are you doing in my car?”

Steve frowns, feigning confusion. “The doors were unlocked.” 

Jonathan decides that if he were an emotion incarnate, he’d be exasperation. Steve just evokes that response a hundred percent of the time. It’s a fond sort of exasperation though, since things haven’t been hostile between them in a long while. “Steve -“

Steve’s expression drops immediately back into a grin, not a care in the world in his eyes. “Dude, you can’t just leave your car unlocked with the windows down and not expect people to jump in.”

“I can, actually, it’s called human decency.”

Steve shrugs, already moving on as he digs through a white paper sack he brought with him. Jonathan vaguely recognizes the bright yellow logo on the side. “Hope you’re hungry,” he says, tossing a warm foil-wrapped burger into Jonathan’s lap. Belatedly, Jonathan realizes there’s two Styrofoam cups in the car’s cupholders as well.

He slowly picks up the burger, glancing over at Steve, who’s already peeling the foil off his own. “You...brought me food?”

“Well, yeah. Good shit, too. You ever been to Meg’s? By the park?”

“Um, which park?”

“The one with the metal slide that crisps your ass in July.”

He snorts. “Yeah, once, I think. With Nancy.”

A delayed moment after he says it, he realizes he’s not sure why he mentioned her. Maybe it’s just his conscience reminding them both that this is the second time they’ve been together without her, their buffer. Either way, Steve doesn’t seem to have noticed.

The burger is way better than Jonathan was expecting. He’s not sure when the last time he ate was. Did he have lunch at school today? He can’t remember. 

After a minute, Steve hands him a packet of fries from the bag, nodding when he says thanks. Though Steve keeps his eyes fixed out on the parking lot as he works through his food, Jonathan can’t help staring at him. Spring really is a good look on him. It pinks his cheeks and softens his sharp edges, makes his laugh fuller and his eyes brighter.

_I really am losing it,_ Jonathan thinks, forcing his mind past it. He picks up the Styrofoam cup closest to him and looking questioningly to Steve.

“Lemonade,” Steve answers after finishing the bite in his mouth. “ _Not_ poisoned.”

Jonathan sips at it. “How’d you know I was here?”

Steve shrugs. “Didn’t see your car at work when I drove by so I thought you might be doing pictures or something.”

Jonathan idly taps a finger on the steering wheel. _Why were you looking for me?_ “How’d you know I don’t like tomatoes on my burger?”

Steve glances over, lips quirking. “Lucky guess.” A beat, then, “Your hands still giving you grief?”

Jonathan looks down. Why is it always _Steve_ that seems to notice this, of all people? The only other person who’s mentioned it is Will, and like hell Jonathan is about to unload his minor issues on his little brother. He grips the cup a little tighter. “Yeah. But I don’t know why. I’m not actively scared; it’s not like I’m afraid of the dark or something.” That’s been a lie since eighty-three, but Steve doesn’t need to know that. “It’s just…anxiety, I guess.”

“Shouldn’t you do something about it?”

A dry laugh escapes him. “Like what? See a therapist? I’m fine, Steve. It’s just my hands not listening to my head.”

It feels like the truth, since it’s what he’s been telling himself for months now, and Steve mercifully decides to let it go.

It’s unexpectedly nice, having him here. He pretty much radiates self-confidence and relaxation, and Jonathan doesn’t have to keep up a conversation for it to be comfortable, so that’s two points to something good. But there’s also Jonathan’s recently developed crush that he has to deal with. It’s annoying, to say the least, because it just won’t leave him _alone._ It keeps him up at night, which is ridiculous, and it trickles into his thoughts during the day, in History and Economics and at work when he has nothing else to focus on, which is even more ridiculous. He’ll look down the locker hall to see Steve smiling at _him,_ for absolutely _no reason,_ and he’ll have to smile back because it’s contagious and fuzzes his brain. _Honestly._ Since when did Steve start smiling at him, anyways? 

He forces his eyes back to the parking lot, thinking back to last week when Steve came by his house and they went for a walk. A _walk._ Never would he have expected that yet there they were, walking, talking, even laughing together, just because he had said yes when Steve asked.

He remembers the way Steve had set his hand on top of Jonathan’s to steady him so he could take a picture. Jonathan hates that he still isn’t over it. It probably wasn’t even a big deal to Steve. He feels like a goddamn middle schooler.

“What are you still doing here, anyways?” Steve asks, snapping Jonathan back to the present. “School got out, like, two hours ago.”

“I _was_ sleeping,” he says exasperatedly, squishing his burger foil into a ball and flinging it at Steve’s head.

“Rude,” Steve quips, smiling anyways. “Don’t people normally sleep in their beds, y’know, at home?”

Jonathan glances at the dash just to make sure he wasn’t imagining things earlier. Still on _E._ “I’m out of gas.”

“So you were gonna dream some up?”

“God, you’re such a project sometimes, you know that?”

Steve grins. “Hey, I don’t judge. Dream logic is solid logic. I like it. What I _am_ judging you on is the fact that you slept in the front seat instead of the back. Seriously, look at this,” he says, craning around in his seat. “There’s tons of space back here, weirdo. And honestly –“

He stops short, reaching out to something in the backseat. Jonathan frowns, turning. “What?”

Oh. Messily spread across the upholstery are the two dozen photos he just developed; he hasn’t gotten around to putting them away. Steve’s hand stops midair and he glances back at Jonathan.

“Can I look at these?” 

“Um, yeah, if you want.”

Steve nods and grabs them all, resettling in his seat to go through them one by one. Jonathan watches his face as he does so, slightly unnerved. They’re mostly just nature photos and some candid shots of his family, but it’s still odd to have someone scrutinize them. He absently realizes that he actually cares what Steve thinks about them, about him. Of course he does.

Steve looks up at him halfway through the stack, disbelief painted on his features. “Jonathan, these are insane.”

Jonathan glances at the topmost photo. “It’s a creek in a forest.”

“It’s an _amazing_ creek in an _amazing_ forest because this picture that you took is so _amazing._ ”

“It’s _blurry._ ”

“ _Barely._ Why don’t you sell these or something?”

Jonathan shrugs and Steve shakes his head, looking back to the photos. There’s a glittering hummingbird on a bright pink flower, a game trail worn into the brush-filled forest floor, a view from the edge of the quarry cliffs at sunrise.

“Man. You’re talented,” he finally says, handing the stack over. That fuzzy feeling fills up Jonathan’s head again as he takes the photos, their fingers brushing just so. 

“Thanks,” he says quietly, replacing the photos in the backseat. Accepting compliments was never his strong suit.

A few quiet moments pass, the faint rustle of leaves making its way through the open windows, and then Steve says, quite out of nowhere, “I’m sorry.”

Jonathan blinks, looking over. Incredibly, he’s not surprised that Steve has just said those words. It takes him a second to sort out exactly what he’s feeling, but then he realizes: he’s surprised that he’s _not_ surprised. Three years ago, sure, he would laugh at the idea of an apology coming from Steve Harrington’s mouth, but now…

He doesn’t know what to say. Steve turns away from the windshield to look at him, some unrecognizable emotion on his face. Longing, maybe. For what? Forgiveness? _Him?_

_You’re losing it._

Steve holds his gaze, slightly desperate for Jonathan to hear him. “I really am sorry. I know that doesn’t cover it, but…I haven’t really said it to you yet, and you deserve to hear it, so. I’m sorry, Jonathan. And I get it if you’re not ready to be friends with me or anything. That’s not why I’m saying this. But I want you to know that I’m trying to be better now. I’m going to be a better person. And I’m not mad about Nancy, if you, y’know, thought that. If she’s happy with you and you’re happy with her, that’s awesome. Seriously, I want that for you two. So I’m just…I’m sorry. For everything.”

Jonathan can’t do much more than stare at him. He should hate Steve. He used to, and he has every right to still. But when he thinks about it, any anger he can muster is halfhearted at best. He knows it was Steve who cleaned up the graffitied movie theater sign three years ago without ever asking for any credit; a theater employee told him. It was a shitty thing to do in the first place and he should’ve cleaned it up regardless, but God, Jonathan is tired of holding grudges. How can people grow if there’s no forgiveness? The love Steve had for Nancy was true, even though they may not have been the best match. He and Jonathan haven’t talked about it, but when shit started hitting the fan for the first time, Steve had been there at Jonathan’s house to apologize to him. He didn’t even know Nancy was there. And he came back in to fight. Later on he helped the kids when he could have just skipped town and saved his own ass. He’s long since left his old friends behind, even though he knew doing so would leave him friendless.

_He has me._

“It’s okay,” Jonathan says quietly. “I don’t – it’s okay.”

Steve eyes him hesitantly. “You don’t have to say that just because –“

“I’m serious. I don’t hate you. Nancy doesn’t hate you. You’re a good person, Steve, you just…made some mistakes, like we all do. But it’s okay.”

Steve blows out a long breath, his relief palpable in the way his shoulders relax. “Okay. Great. You don’t want me to leave?”

Jonathan shakes his head. _Kind of the opposite, actually._ “You brought me food,” he says, allowing himself a smile. “You get a pass.”

Steve’s expression turns a happy sort of incredulous, like he never expected it to be that easy. “I didn’t do it just to get into your good graces, you know.”

Jonathan rolls his eyes. “I know.” He hesitates, weary of the answer to his next question, but he decides to ask it anyways. “Why _did_ you do it?”

Steve falters, suddenly unable to meet his eyes. “Just ‘cause, I guess. I thought you might appreciate it. I know you’re always busy and stuff.” He looks up with a wry smile. “And believe it or not, I like hanging out with you, Byers.”

_Don’t say it. Don’t say it. Don’t say it._ “Me too.”

Steve grins. “You like hanging out with yourself too?”

“Fuck _off,_ ” he groans, punching Steve’s shoulder. Steve laughs, full and light, and he pushes open the car door.

“Come on. You got a spare gas can? You can ride with me.”

Jonathan takes the few seconds he has alone to stare at himself in the rearview mirror. There’s a ridiculously happy smile on his face, a rarity his whole life. _You really are losing it,_ he thinks.

It’s not so terrible.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading!! catch me on tumblr, dustinhendrsn


End file.
